


Thankful

by starbuckmeggie



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Family, Future Fic, Holiday, Humor, Romance, Thanksgiving, home for the holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 00:32:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12829470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuckmeggie/pseuds/starbuckmeggie
Summary: Josh and Donna, a year into it, spend Thanksgiving at her family's house in Wisconsin. Some minor sap ensues.





	Thankful

My mom moves through the kitchen effortlessly, almost like a dance. I suppose it is, in its own way. She’s been doing this for so long that it basically is choreographed. I’m not even sure what time she got up this morning to get everything started for dinner this afternoon. Meanwhile, I dragged myself out of bed and downstairs almost an hour ago and all I’ve managed to do is get a cup of coffee. 

Mom did tell me to sit down and relax, that I’m on vacation for a few days and I can let her take care of me a little.

I really wanted to put up a fight with that one, but I’m too tired to try. 

Somehow, in between dicing potatoes, seasoning the turkey, and prepping the stuffing from scratch, she’s also throwing together breakfast. A breakfast that looks big enough to feed a few dozen people, and definitely not for people planning to eat a huge meal in another five or six hours. Still, seeing as how I don’t have to do anything for it, I’m not going to complain. 

I tilt back my mug and drain its contents, just starting to feel alive. Before I can even move to get up for a refill, Mom’s standing over my shoulder, doing it for me. Her other hand runs through my hair as she leans down, planting a kiss on my forehead. “I’m so happy you’re home,” she whispers before heading back to her work.

“Me, too,” I answer, propping my chin in my hand to watch her. Technically, this isn’t my childhood home; my parents relocated not long after I settled in DC, and they’re the only people I know who upgraded to a bigger place after all the kids left and retirement. Their logic was that they wanted to have somewhere for all us to stay, including spouses and grandchildren. The place isn’t exactly big enough for that, but we’re managing so far.

“We weren’t sure if you were going to be able to make it.”

“I know, Mom. It’s been busy lately.”

“It’s not as if you’re running a country or anything.” I look up to find her grinning at me broadly, pride obvious on her face. “I’m just glad you’re here. It’s the first time in how many years that all you kids have been here for Thanksgiving?”

“Too many to count,” I answer, knowing it’s true. I don’t want to add it up, but I think it’s been something like eight years. “Speaking of, where’s the rest of the clan?”

“Still asleep, I would imagine, at least the grandkids. Nicky and Matt and your sisters-in-law are off with Dad, hunting for the perfect Christmas tree. Ben and his husband are downstairs getting ‘pumped for the parade,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

“And Josh? He was gone when I woke up.”

“Also on the hunt.”

I chuckle, shaking my head as I take a sip of coffee. “Ah, yes. They took my Jewish boyfriend to find a Christmas tree. He’s going to be a big help.”

“I think your brothers are hazing him.”

“Hazing him? They’ve all met Josh on more than one occasion.”

“They haven’t spent much time with him as your significant other, though.” I groan, shaking my head again. “Don’t worry; they’re not taking him on a snipe hunt or something. I think they just want to see if he can keep up.”

I sigh as she puts a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of me. “Well, it was nice having a boyfriend while it lasted.”

“Something going on I should know about?”

I look up and smile as Josh’s mom walks into the kitchen, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, a stark contrast to the dead animal look I’ve got going on right now. Inviting her to my family’s Thanksgiving celebration was possibly the best idea my parents have ever had. Mrs. Lyman wasn’t a hard sell, either. Though she’d never spent time with my extended family before this week, she seems to be getting along with everyone wonderfully. She even flew into Wisconsin on Sunday, days before Josh and I knew if we’d be able to actually get here, just to get to know everybody. I can only imagine what our mothers have managed to plot and discuss in the last few days, and I don’t think I want to know. Josh and I agreed to a strict “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy with that sort of thing. It’s for the best.

“It seems my family has absconded with your son in some sort of hazing ritual. I’m sure he’ll be returning to Florida with you at the end of the week.”

She just laughs, walking into the kitchen to the coffee maker. “He’ll be fine. I’m sure he knows by now that if he messes this up with you, I’ll disown him.”

I feel my cheeks heat up a little and turn my attention to my plate of food. I’ve always gotten along with Josh’s mother, and her well-intended teasing over the years about me being the only woman who would ever be able to put up with her son, or asking us when the wedding was going to be, or telling us to get a room is not something I’ve ever taken too seriously. I mostly saw it as her way of harassing her son, who often needed to be harassed. Since Josh and I got together, though, she’s been less than subtle with her hints about marriage and giving her grandchildren, not necessarily in that order.

Hence why Josh and I were concerned about our mothers spending unsupervised time together. We’ve not been ambushed by the two of them yet, though we’ve both been cornered by them individually in the almost twenty-four hours we’ve been here. Neither have been exactly blatant about it, mostly just asking nosy questions and apparently telling Josh that if he had anything important to say, a big family dinner would be a great place to do it. Josh, in fact, knows I would never want to be proposed to in front of a huge group of people. Not that we’ve talked about him proposing or something, but it was actually a conversation we had years ago. I don’t remember entirely what led to it—probably some scene in a movie or TV show—but I mentioned how tacky it was to do that because what if the answer was no? How horrible would that be for all involved? Incidentally, he’d had the same mindset. I can’t imagine he’d have changed that much in the last few years. Regardless, we have no intention of getting engaged this week. We’re happy with where we are and it works for us. That’s all that matters.

“What’s the ritual?” she asks, sitting down next to me with a plate of food to go with her coffee. 

“Christmas tree hunting, apparently,” I answer, composing myself. 

“I’m not an expert, but isn’t it a little early for that?”

My mother and I chuckle simultaneously. “Depends on the family,” I answer. “Mom and Dad have neighbors that put up their tree the day after Halloween.”

“Besides,” my mom says, coming over to sit across from me with her own cup of coffee. “They’re mostly on the lookout for the perfect tree. We don’t usually put it up for another couple of weeks, but since everyone is here…” Her voice trails off, her expression wistful, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she manages to get all of us to decorate the place before we scatter on Sunday.

“Have you ever decorated a tree, Mrs. Lyman?” I ask, shoveling food into my mouth. 

“Alice, honey,” she reminds me, squeezing my hand for a moment. I haven’t been able to get myself to use her first name, despite how long she’s been telling me to call her that. One time a few months ago, she suggested that I call her “Mom,” but after I nearly choked on my own air, she let it drop. Josh hasn’t been able to stop with the “Mr.” and “Mrs.” with my parents, either. “And no, I can’t say that I’ve ever decorated a tree. Even after moving to Florida, most of my neighbors are also Jewish. The effort of buying a tree and decorations seems like far too much to deal with at this stage of my life.”

I nod, not wanting to answer with my mouth full. I look up and realize both women are staring while trying to look like they’re not staring at me. My food dries in my mouth and I swallow, barely choking it down. My mom smiles at me, then Josh’s mom. My fork clatters to the table and I shift nervously. “Mom? Isn’t there something in the kitchen that needs to be, you know…stirred?”

She shakes her head, taking a too casual sip of her coffee. “Nope. It’s too early to do much more than what’s happening now.”

“Why do I feel like I’m being cornered by the wolves in sheep’s clothing?”

“Honey, I’m not going to attack you.”

“Mom…”

“No, really. I just wanted to check in with you, see how everything’s been going.”

I glance over at Mrs. Lyman, who still looks too innocent to be innocent. I don’t know how they could have planned this, and maybe they didn’t. Maybe they’re just seizing an opportunity. Regardless, I don’t trust either of them for a minute.

“How about you just ask me what you really want to ask me?”

“Donnatella, I really do want to know how your life has been.” She’s good. She’s going to pretend to keep it casual.

“Everything’s fine, Mom. Just really busy. I’ve had a pretty steep learning curve with the job but I think I’m finally settling in.” I yawn, barely covering my mouth. “Steep learning curve” is a hell of an understatement. The number of times Josh had to talk me off a ledge during the first couple of months as I sobbed and had panic attacks I can’t count on both hands. He was patient with me, always helping me ride out the storm, encouraging me and reminding me of all the things I was doing well, and that it was a hard job no matter how seasoned one was. 

“You’ve been doing a great job,” Mrs. Lyman interjects, grabbing my hand for a second. “Josh is so proud of you. Every time I speak to him, all he can talk about is how wonderful you are at your job and what a difference you’re making to the First Lady and the country.”

I shake my head, looking away. Josh always tells me that I’m a doing a good job, but I had no idea he said anything to anyone else. “He’s sweet, but he’s the one that’s really getting things done. I really think the President would be lost without Josh.”

“Do you know how surreal it is to have this conversation with my daughter about the President and First Lady of the United States?” My mom asks, looking bewildered. “It doesn’t matter how long you’ve worked there—”

“Or that you’ve met them,” I throw in, yawning again.

“It’s just strange that you can talk about it so casually, like it’s not a big deal.”

“Trust me, Mom; I always remember what a big deal it is.”

They’re both quiet for a moment and I try to force myself to relax. Being on edge won’t stop the two of them from asking whatever questions they have. 

“Donna, you seem awfully tired,” Josh’s mom says, and I laugh a little, mostly without humor. When someone says you look tired it usually means you actually look like hell.

“Thanks,” I answer, rubbing my face before grabbing my mug again. 

“Is there some reason you’re so exhausted, maybe?”

My coffee almost comes out of my nose, making me gasp and choke. “ _What_?”

“I—well, we—were wondering, if there was anything in particular causing you to be so tired lately.”

I gape at her, turning to stare at my mother. She only looks at me expectantly, a smile tugging at her lips.

“No!” I finally exclaim. “Are you asking me—do you think I’m pregnant?”

“Just…wondering,” Mom answers, having the good grace to pretend to study her fingernails.

“Don’t you think that half a bottle of wine I drank last night would have done some serious damage if I was?” Neither of them answer me and I bury my face in my hands for a few seconds, shaking my head. “Exhaustion doesn’t equal pregnancy,” I finally say. “I’m exhausted because I’m exhausted. Josh and I have been putting in crazier hours than usual just to make sure we could make it here this week. Last week, we were at the office at least twelve hours every day, not to mention the fifteen hour days we’ve been working since Saturday. We got up super early yesterday after getting about four hours of sleep just to make sure we could get everything together to get here. So, yeah, I’m tired, but I’m not pregnant. Would you please stop with all this?”

“We just want you to be happy.” I’m not even sure which one of them said it, truthfully. 

“Marriage and babies isn’t what makes people happy,” I answer wearily. Both mothers look horrified, and I chuckle, knowing how that sounded. “Look, I’m not saying either or both are outside the realm of possibility. Truthfully, I’d say it’s all a likelihood…just not right now. So stop pushing. Josh and I are happy. We’re busy all the time but we’re happy with where we are right now. Things are good. All of this is too much to deal with when I’m this tired, by the way.”

“I’m sorry,” my mother says, reaching out to put her hand on my wrist.

“Me, too,” Mrs. Lyman echoes, rubbing my back gently. 

“You know, Josh and I worried a little about the two of you being left to your own devices for a few days. We were both prepared for some nagging and meddling, but this is more than I was expecting.”

“I should probably be offended by that, but meddling is what I do. He’s my only son and I can’t help but want to see him settled.”

“We’re just trying to take all this one day at a time. We’ve only been together for a year, you know? It feels like we haven’t had a chance to stop and take time for ourselves since the Inauguration. We haven’t been able to make that a priority—there are too many other things to worry about right now.” Truthfully, since we got back from Hawaii just over a year ago, life hasn’t slowed down. We’ve occasionally set aside time for ourselves, but going somewhere or doing much of anything that’s just the two of us hasn’t really happened since. We came out here for a few days in the spring for my grandparents’ anniversary, and visited his mother in Florida in July. We went to California for CJ’s wedding in August, but aside from normal things like dinner dates and sometimes completely ignoring the outside world for a weekend and hunkering down in our apartment, we’ve focused on work. We’ve had to. He’s been busy trying to help keep the country from going to war. There’s not much more important than that right now.

“Just don’t put these things off,” my mother says, getting up to go back into the kitchen. “You’ll wind up missing out on the good things in life while you’re busy making plans.”

I roll my eyes. She sounds like something out of a fortune cookie. “We’re not putting anything off. We’re just not interested in rushing our life or doing something because it works for someone else. If we want to get married and have kids, we’ll do it when it’s right for us.” His mom cringes at the word “if,” but I stand my ground. “Could we possibly talk about something else? Not that I don’t thoroughly enjoy being harassed by two mothers at one time about why I don’t have kids yet…”

Mrs. Lyman smiles at me gently before she gets up, taking her breakfast plate and coffee into the kitchen, and I enjoy watching her pretend to tussle with my mother over who should put it in the dishwasher. Honestly, it’s great that they’re getting along. They’ve been wildly entertaining to watch, bickering and picking at each other affectionately, like long time friends. They’ve already developed a shorthand that makes it hard to believe they’ve known each other for only a few days.

They both settle back at the table a few moments later, and it feels more relaxed. Josh and I probably haven’t heard the last of it for the weekend, but at least I might have a reprieve for a few hours. I would really like to talk about some of my relationship stuff with one or both of them, but not if it’s constantly going to become a question of when we’re going to get married.

“So, seriously, Donna,” my mom says, snagging the toast off my plate. “You’ve been Chief of Staff for almost a year now. How’s everything going?”

“It’s amazing,” I answer, grinning broadly. “It’s hard. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve never worked so hard in my life, but Mrs. Santos and I get along really well. We’re both kind of figuring out what we’re doing as we go along.” I fiddle with my fingers for a minute. “Actually, there is something I want to tell you, and it’s kind of a big deal for me.”

“What is it, honey?”

“I’ve started taking classes.”

My mom’s eyes widen in surprise, a smile spreading across her face. “You’re going back to college?”

“Just a couple of classes so far. I applied at Georgetown for the spring semester, and I’m trying to take it slow for now. I have an advisor who helped me actually get credit for some of the work I’ve done in politics for the last ten years, and who helped me figure out what classes I’d need after what would transfer from the first time I was in college, what sort of degree those would go to without starting from scratch, and how long it might take me to earn a degree.”

“I didn’t know that was something you wanted to do.”

I shrug, playing with my coffee mug. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I’m not terribly fond of people whispering behind my back about how someone in my position got to be where I am without a degree, and this will shut them up.”

“That shouldn’t be why—”

“No, I want to do it for myself, too. I’ve had the two years worth of credits hanging over my head for years now, and I’d really like to finish it. Maybe even go to grad school, if I can squeeze it in. As it is, I’m only in one class right now and that’s only because it meets one night a week. I took a couple of classes online over the summer, which was actually great. Mrs. Santos is all for it and makes sure I get the time I need to do my schoolwork. She figures that once I have the degree, she’ll be able to pay me more.”

My mom reaches across the table, hugging me awkwardly over the distance. “I’m so proud of you, baby,” she whispers. 

“How’s Josh been with it?” Mrs. Lyman asks, pulling me in for a hug when my mom is done. “Is he whining about the lack of attention on him?”

I snicker a little. “No, he’s been well-behaved for the most part. He usually has work of his own to do while I’m in class or studying, and when he starts getting twitchy, I make him go for a walk or a run. It’s not that he doesn’t want me to get an education, he just has the attention span of a puppy. Sometimes I just have to boop him on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper to get him to behave.” I pause, smiling at them both. The two of them honestly look so proud right now that it nearly brings tears to my eyes. Meddling or not, I know they just have our best interests at heart. “Josh and I are really good, you know,” I tell them softly.

“Good,” my mom answers, her voice equally as soft. “It’s been a year, like you said…”

“It’s been a good year. We’re really happy. Things are different now, obviously, than they were this time last year, but it’s nothing I wouldn’t expect.”

“Different how?” his mom asks. I know they’re prying while trying not to pry, but for now, I’m good with talking.

“Well, the magic’s gone, for one thing.” They both look genuinely horrified and I wave my hands, cutting them off. “Not that way. There’s still magic, it’s just different now. Back then, we had that new relationship, can’t get enough of each other magic, and it was great. Everything about the beginning of a relationship thing is pretty amazing. But we’ve moved on from that. We have different magic now. We’re more settled in with each other this way. We’re not the slightly obnoxious couple that has to hold each other’s hands constantly or talk to each other every half an hour or risk a meltdown. Don’t get me wrong—I do still want to touch him whenever I see him, and I miss him when I can’t talk to him, but I know I’ll be okay if I _don’t_ talk to him for a few hours. We have less need for constant reassurance and have accepted each other’s presence as something more permanent. We’ve managed to go back to closer to how we used to be with our conversations and disagreements and all of that stupid stuff, but now we have the added bonus of not fighting feelings for each other. We’re like…Josh and Donna two point oh. We’ve worked out some of the kinks from the original version. It’s still a process, but on the whole, this is a really good place to be. Well, except—no, never mind.”

“No, what?”

I smile self-consciously and shrug. “It’s just been a long time since I lived with someone; not since just before I left to work on the Bartlet campaign. I just forgot what it could be like.”

“How so?” Mrs. Lyman asks, settling back in her chair to watch me.

“Even the last time I lived with a guy, it wasn’t anything like this. Maybe because we were so much younger and there are so many things you look at differently at that age. It just never occurred to me how…comfortable we would get with each other.”

My mother chuckles, nodding her head. “Yeah, no one ever really talks about how monotonous living with one person can be. It’s one of those secrets no one wants to pass along because then no one would want to get married.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it monotonous, but we definitely have a routine. I usually get up first in the morning and start the coffee and shower, then he gets up and showers, and as long as nothing huge is going on, we make breakfast and go to work. We try to come home at a reasonable time every day so we have a chance to catch up and have dinner, but there is at least one night every week when something comes up and Josh is stuck at the White House until past midnight. We rarely have anything nearly as pressing in the First Lady’s office to keep me around like that. Then there’s the traveling we do, sometimes with each other, sometimes not. I mean, maybe it’ll get to that point at some point in our lives, but it’s definitely not monotonous. No, I really just mean that we’re comfortable around each other. Maybe too comfortable at times.”

“Donna, I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

I shrug again. “Well, I feel kind of silly talking about it. I’m not complaining about it but…I feel like we skipped parts of our relationship, or at least that we did it out of order. We got to bypass a lot of the awkward stuff early on because we’d known each other so long. We knew most of each other’s quirks and habits, and just had to learn some basic stuff. And we definitely skipped the dating thing and went right into a serious relationship—not that we needed to date in the conventional sense. Dating is to get to know someone and we already had that taken care of. It just didn’t take long for some of the mystery to disappear.” I can see understanding dawning on their faces as they start to get what I’m trying to say. “I guess I just assumed it’d take us longer to get to the part where we’re completely gross in front of each other.”

“How gross are you talking about?” Mrs. Lyman asks warily.

“I suppose it could be worse. We seem to have certain lines about privacy neither of us want to cross, which is good. On the other hand, there are other parts of our relationship where we seem to have no boundaries. He has a certain degree of…” I pause and shake my head. I can’t believe I’m talking to my mother and my boyfriend’s mother about this stuff. Josh’ll probably kill me if he ever finds out. “He’s very at ease with the whole…flatulence thing, something I wasn’t expecting.” The two of them snicker, though neither looking embarrassed. I haven’t done a survey, but it seems this is a common theme around here. I’m sure my brothers are like that with their spouses, if not worse, considering how gross they were growing up. “When you kind of pine after someone for almost a decade, you romanticize it all and never consider the more technical aspects.

“I’m guilty, too. The poor guy knows more about my reproductive system and how it affects the both of us than I’m sure he ever anticipated. He’s never lived with a woman before; he managed to avoid the whole period thing until now. I think it’s been an eye-opening experience for him.” Josh can be terribly unobservant about a lot of things, but it took him no time at all to understand that I have moments where I go inexplicably psycho, where I can’t stand him in the slightest, when I’m tired and can’t stop crying, when he comes home to find me binging on Kit Kat bars, and figured out a few ways to deal with it. To his credit, I think he remembers some of that behavior from when I worked for him and understands that sometimes my hormones get the best of me. I try my best to keep it out of the office, but I work primarily with women at the moment, and we all know how it can be.

My mother waves her hand dismissively. “That’s nothing; trust me on that. Talk to me in five years. Better yet, talk to me in ten years and tell me how comfortable everything is. Have a couple of kids and I can promise you there won’t be a single secret left between the two of you.” Josh’s mother chuckles knowingly along with mine, and I do my best not to roll my eyes. It’s not that I don’t believe them—I’ve heard about all that from enough of my friends over the years—but that’s not what I’m talking about, not in that way. 

The comfort I have with Josh is strange. We skipped entire chunks of the relationship process because we didn’t need them. Going from friends and coworkers to being in a relationship was a struggle in some ways, but for the most part, it was completely natural. The very beginning was weird as we tried to figure out how to be around each other in this new way, and how to live together without killing each other. Once we stopped trying to be a couple and just let ourselves be us, everything became much easier. It all felt right and everything fell into place. We fell into a routine—no, routine makes it sound boring. We found our rhythm. We figured out that whatever it was that made us work when I was his assistant is the same thing that makes us work like this. It’s talking to each other and bouncing ideas off each other, and being the best and worst and weirdest possible versions of ourselves. So, yes, it turned comfortable not long after that, and it’s not entirely different than living with a goofy college-age boy at times. He finds amusement in things that no grown man should be entertained by. He’s very casual about walking around in his underwear, and it’s not the good stuff he seemed concerned with wearing when we first started sleeping together to make it seem like he cared about impressing me. We still close bathroom doors, but we have full on conversations through them anyway.

But how do I make them understand that this comfort, the over-share of information, the lack of boundaries, is what I love so much about being with Josh? I get to be entirely myself with him. We have no problem with getting dressed up and being professional during state dinners or balls or diplomatic events, but the best times we have are at home together, lounging around in our oldest, most comfortable clothes. We’d rather order takeout and drink cheap beer, singing along to the radio or obnoxiously quoting some old movie than do almost anything else. We don’t have sex as frantically as we did a year ago, but it’s so much better now than it was when we first got together. We don’t constantly feel like we have to make up for lost time. I’ve laughed more in the last year with Josh than I have in my entire life. I’m happier than I ever could have imagined, and I honestly get happier every day. If the tradeoff to feeling like this is that we have less mystery and more reality, then it’s a price I’ll happily pay.

The back door off the kitchen bangs open, my family flooding into the room, their voices competing for prominence. My brothers say hi to me and hug our mom before going over to the counter and filling plates with food, my sisters-in-law following suit. Within moments, they’re all pounding out of the room, and all I can make out is “downstairs” and “parade.” I look over at Mrs. Lyman, chuckling at her shell shocked expression. “If you think this is bad, you should have tried growing up with them,” I tell her, happy the attention is off me for the moment. 

“There was never a dull moment, I suspect,” she answers, her eyes still wide. 

My dad comes inside then, smiling, and moves over to greet my mom. I make a face at their show of affection, but it’s mostly a reflex. “Good morning, Alice. G’morning, Sunshine. Sleep well?”

“It was too quiet,” I answer, teasing him. “I’m city-folk now, Dad. I need city noises to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles good-naturedly, pulling off his coat and draping it over the back of a chair. Before he can say anything else, Josh pokes his head in, looking around cautiously. Even though I can’t help but laugh at him, my heart flutters out of control as I see him

“Coast clear?” he asks, stepping into the kitchen.

“Rough morning?” I ask in return, propping my chin on my hand to watch him.

“No, it was great,” he answers, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Well, did you find the perfect tree?”

“We did,” my dad says. “It’s in a bucket of water on the back porch. Turkey smells good, Luce.”

“It’s only been in for a couple of hours. Don’t get any cute ideas about sneaking a taste.”

My dad gives her his best “who, me?” face, and Josh sheds his jacket, nudging me out of the way so he can sit on the chair next to me, one arm sliding around my shoulders. He reaches out his other hand and snags a piece of bacon off my forgotten plate, and I put my hand on his cheek, turning his face to give him a quick kiss. He smiles gently, giving me another kiss before returning to his bacon. I rest my hand on his leg, rubbing his thigh, and look up to find both of our mothers smiling at us, almost smug expressions on their faces. My father is lost in his own little world, piling food onto a plate.

“What?” Josh asks me, noticing when I tense up. He looks up and jumps a little, shrinking back into me. “What the hell is going on?”

“Josh, language,” his mother chides and he lifts his eyebrow at her.

“I stand by my question.”

“Nothing’s going on, sweetheart,” she reassures him unconvincingly, smirking behind her coffee mug. “We’ve just been sitting here, chatting.”

“Do I even want to know what about?”

“Probably not,” my father answers, pulling up a chair next to my mother. “Ignorance is bliss.”

Our mothers smile at him benignly, and suddenly I’m regretting mentioning anything about our relationship. “Yeah, well, I’m gonna go shower while everyone else is busy with the parade.” He presses a quick kiss to my cheek and stands, hurrying out of the room to the sound of teasing laughter.

I get up and dump what’s left of my food and shove my plate in the dishwasher. I come over and plant a kiss on top of my dad’s head, giving him a quick hug from behind. “Behave,” I say, pointing first at my mother, then at Josh’s. I don’t bother to wait for them to answer before I hurry off to catch up with Josh. Turns out, I don’t have to go very far. I find him in the living room, inspecting the dozens of pictures that line the mantel and bookshelves. Pictures that show my brothers and me over the years, posed school pictures and relaxed family vacation group shots. Pictures of my brothers’ weddings, pictures of them with their significant others, pictures of my nieces and nephews, my grandparents, my parents’ wedding, and, weirdly, pictures of Josh and me through the years. There aren’t many, but there a couple from various public functions, and though I wouldn’t say that they’re of Josh and myself exclusively, it was inevitable at one point that if he were being photographed, I would be in the shot with him. Within the last year, though, we’ve been at enough events with enough photographers that I’ve been able to satisfy my mother’s need for pictures of her kids.

Josh is, not terribly surprisingly, focused on the pictures of us. I walk up behind him, sliding my arms around his waist. His hands rest on top of mine and give them a squeeze. “I thought you were going to shower.”

He glances up to the ceiling. “It sounds like a stampede up there. The whole damn house sounds like it’s falling apart. How many nieces and nephews do you have?”

“They multiply in their sleep,” I answer, kissing the back of his neck. We both pause as feet pound down the stairs, a couple of “Hi, Aunt Donna’s” heard over the cacophony, even one “Morning, Uncle Josh,” making their way down to the basement to watch the parade. I turn my attention back to Josh, but he’s focused on a picture of us on the bookshelf.

“I like this one. When did that happen?”

“It’s cute, right? We look like we like each other.”

“Shocking, I know,” he answers sarcastically.

“Someone took that last spring when we were here for the anniversary party. I don’t know who.” It’s nothing fancy. My head’s on his shoulder and I have an idiotic grin on my face. He looks pretty content, too, his cheek on my head as he smiles over at someone else not in the frame. I don’t remember the picture being taken or what was making me smile that way, but it caught my parents’ fancy and it’s displayed prominently with the rest of the family photos.

“Oh, hey.” He turns, wrapping his arms around me. “Happy Thanksgiving.” He grins broadly, deep dimples forming in his cheeks. He really does make me weak in the knees.

I push myself up to the balls of my feet, readjusting my arms to around his shoulders. “Happy Thanksgiving,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his.

“Sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up.”

I shrug, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “I slept in a little. I’m just sorry you got roped into the whole Christmas tree thing. We take that very serious in my family. My brothers didn’t harass you or anything, did they?”

“No, they were fine.”

“And my dad? He was okay, too?”

“You mean other than reminding me that if I ever hurt you he has an axe, a wood chipper, and no problem going _back_ to prison? No, he was great.”

I wince; that does sound like something he would say, though I’m not sure if it would be in seriousness or just to screw with someone’s head. “You know he’s kidding, right? Dad’s never been to prison.”

“Of course, no, I knew that.” Josh looks a little relieved nonetheless. 

“They couldn’t make the conviction stick,” I tell him, shrugging again. “Something about a technicality with the paperwork.”

“You’re a real riot this morning.”

I laugh, tightening my grip on him. “It’s all this Midwestern air—it brings out the funny in me.”

“So, what were our mothers talking about when I came in?”

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “I got my first double-barreled assault and had the both of them on my case about getting married and having kids.”

His eyes grow wide, but there’s no real panic in them. “Was it horrible?”

“A little. It was more frustrating, really, because it’s like my mom wants me to get married because she thinks my time is running out or something, and not because it’s what’s right for me. Did you know that both of our mothers thought the reason I was so tired was because I’m pregnant?”

“Really? They do know where you work, right?”

“Hopefully, I set them straight on the whole thing and if we’re lucky, they’ll leave you alone about it. _But_ , if they do get to you, do not let them try to push you into doing something you’re not ready to do, okay?”

“Donna, I wouldn’t—”

“You’re a people-pleaser, Josh, whether you like to admit it or not, and I know for a fact that the last thing you want to do is disappoint your own mother. I can only imagine that my mother is a close second. I don’t want to turn around and find you down on one knee in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner because getting married seems preferable to the harassment from our parents.”

He manages to look offended for a few seconds before sighing, tightening his arms around me. “Fine. I’ll be strong. No proposals in front of the family.” He gives me a quick kiss before pulling back, looking very put upon. “Besides, I don’t even have the ring with me.” My heart stops, my mouth falling open. “Relax, Donna, I'm kidding...or am I?”

I reach down and smack his ass hard enough to make him jump. “Knock it off.”

“You’re never getting a proposal out of me with an attitude like that.”

I press my lips to his again, fighting back my grin. No need to encourage him. “Hey, can I be super cheesy right now? Just for a few seconds?”

“Go for it,” he answers, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. I’ll catch hell with him at some point for being overly sentimental, but I can live with it.

“I just wanted to tell you, before dinner when everyone’s going to be expected to go around and say what they’re most thankful for—”

He shifts a little, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Donna, you don’t have to say it.”

“I’m so thankful for you,” I whisper, feeling my chest tighten a little. “I don’t think I tell you enough what you mean to me. I wake up every morning and go to sleep every night thanking the universe at large that I have you in my life. You mean the world to me. The world. The last year with you has been the happiest of my life, and I know that it’s a struggle sometimes and I’m not the easiest person to live with, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. There’s not a moment I would trade. As hard as this is sometimes, I’d rather struggle through life with you by my side than have a few easy days with anyone else. Because, Josh, those hard days…they make everything worthwhile. They make me know we can get through anything. We’ve already been through hell, and I wouldn’t want anything else with anyone else. You are the love of my life…and I’m thankful for you. I wanted you to know that, here, and not in front of a bunch of other people. Tonight, when I say that I’m thankful for you, I want you to know it’s for all of those reasons and a million more I can’t express. I need you to know that.”

He presses his forehead to mine, pulling me closer to him. “I know,” he answers softly. “I know. I never get tired of hearing it, though. And, Donna…I know it’s trite to say ‘ditto,’ but I don’t know if I can say it any better than that. It took us so long to get here, but you were worth the wait. I wouldn’t change that for anything. And, you need to know that you’re the love of my life, too.”

I cut him off, leaning up to kiss him. I know he wants to say more, but I don’t need to hear it. Our heads tilt at the same time and his hand comes up to cup my head, keeping me in place. Like there’s anywhere I need to go.

“I’m totally telling Mom and Dad that you’re getting groped in the living room.”

I break from Josh reflexively, and turn my head to make a face at my older brother. I hold out an arm, flipping him off, and say, “Piss off, Ben.”

“Such vulgar language from our precious Donnatella,” he answers with a smirk, leaning against the doorframe to the basement. 

“Need I remind you of the things I’ve caught you and your husband doing under our parents’ roof?”

His face blanches, and even though he knows I’d never say anything—and not the least of which is because we’re all adults—it’s nice to know I have something to hold over him. “Parade’s about to start, if you want to join,” he tells us before disappearing into the kitchen.

I turn back to Josh and give him a quick kiss before disentangling myself. “Go shower while there’s no one else in line.”

He grabs onto my hand, giving a little tug as his eyebrows waggle suggestively. “Everyone’s going to be downstairs…”

“Joshua Lyman, what are you suggesting?”

“I’m just saying that we have a little time to ourselves. Shouldn’t we take advantage of it?”

I put my free hand to my chest, pretending to be scandalized. “Are you saying we should have shower sex in my parents’ house? While your own mother sits innocently in the kitchen with them?”

“I was thinking regular bed sex, but your idea is much better.”

I bite my lip, pretending to consider. We had sex the night before we left, hoping it would hold us until we got home on Sunday. I should have known better. All he has to do is throw the idea out there and I’m ready to tear off his clothes. He tugs at my arm again and this time I let him pull me. We don’t hesitate before hurrying up the stairs on tiptoe, trying to make as little noise as possible. There’s a very strong likelihood that everyone will know what we were doing when we come back downstairs at the same time, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a Thanksgiving story and, you know, post it on Thanksgiving. However, I probably should have started it before Tuesday night. Also, I should have decided to do this before Tuesday, but that’s life. This is actually part of my unofficial head cannon that I’ve created, bits and pieces of which have been running through my head nonstop for months. I blame whichever person mentioned doing something akin to my Mondler story This Charming Life. I don’t think I have the stamina for something that big, but that doesn’t stop my brain from working through it. Also present are my family head cannon nonsense. I’ve decided Josh’s mother’s name is Alice (because I like it), and that Donna’s mother and her siblings would have Italian names that could be shortened to American sounding names. Her mother is Lucia, but Lucy or Luce for short. Her brothers (two older and one younger) are Matteo, Benedetto, and Nicolo. (I could be wrong, but I think CJ has three brothers, which I probably only realized subconsciously when my brain was working overtime but probably stole it from there) I decided at the very last minute to make one of Donna’s brother’s gay. I thought it’d make for a nice change.
> 
> Also…this story kind of sucks. It rambles endlessly. I do hope that you’ve enjoyed it and that you don’t feel it was a complete waste of cyberspace. Maybe I’ll get around to writing more of this sort of thing at some point.
> 
> I hope everyone who celebrates it had a great Thanksgiving, and I hope those that don't celebrate it had a great Thursday!


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